|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Fri Jul 27, 2007 12:56 pm
JUST T H E BEGINNING
"Just listen," he said, and I could feel my face flush at the touch of his hands. His eyes were closed as he set the ancient pair of giant, black headphones over my ears. They reminded me of the ones we use to wear in elementary school when we’d visit the computer lab. I'd always hate when I got greasy ones, a result of having hair products being rubbed off onto it by a black girl who had been messing with her perm.
"I am," was my response to his one opened eye, his questioning look asking where my attention truly was. I waited until he shut his eye before I did mine. There wasn't anything to listen to at first and I began to wonder what he was doing. Then, suddenly, there was a guitar. It repeated a riff about seven times before a bass joined. The two played on for about forty-five seconds, then a light tap of the cymbals were heard, and the percussion had started up. Truthfully, the song was lulling me to sleep. It was a good band, I'll give Andy that, but I couldn't help but start to doze. Just as I did, though, the music started to crescendo and I could barely hear myself think. There were no words, just instruments, and when I thought I couldn't take anymore it died down, almost completely, before finally ceasing.
"What'd you think?" Andy asked beaming, waiting for my response.
"I liked it," I said truthfully.
"But?"
"But… I still don't get it." I searched his eyes for some disappointment, but there was none.
"I due time, milady. You will understand all music in due time." Andy smiled again and I knew my face was turning red because I could feel my ears getting hot.
"Whatever you say music man," was all I came up with in my attempt to get away before he could read my emotions. I finally decided that Andrew was some sort of psychic. How else could he understand the meanings of so many different songs? Or how he could read my emotions like they were written on my face? No one, and I mean no one, has been able to do that before. Part of me still thinks he's guessing half the time, but the other half believes him when he tells me he's just in tune with his empathetic side. What man knows about empathy, I ask you?
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jul 27, 2007 12:58 pm
C H A P T E R O N E I use to love summer. Key words here being 'use to.' For some reason I felt like it betrayed me, that it didn't right all the wrongs in the world like it usually did, but possibly amplified them. As a kid, I always thought that the hot summer days at the beach would wipe away all of my cares, but I was wrong. Oh so very wrong.
May vanished like vapor and June came on swift wings. The first day marked the six month anniversary of my mother's heart attack. What a way to bring in the new year, I thought back in January. Actually, no, I didn't. I completely freaked out and we missed d**k Clark's count down while we were at the hospital. I thought she was going to die, the only person I could truly talk to and trust everything with, I thought was going to leave me. Looking back now, I chastise myself for ever trusting someone with so much. My mother was the only person who knew me so well, and for a while I blamed myself for burdening her with all my problems. I know it would probably sound ridiculous to someone else, but I thought it was my secrets that caused the stress that led to the heart attack. I never bothered her with little things like a crush on this guy, or what to wear to a party next weekend, not that I ever went to any mind you. But, when I had an ephinany about something, something I thought could possibly be life changing, she was there. When I was seven and found a dying bird in the front yard she was the one who helped me nurse it for two days, and who gave it a funeral when it died. I didn't understand death all that well back then. I knew it occured. Everyday in fact. But, it never sunk in until it hit close to home.
Of course my father and sister handled things in different ways. My sister came home even less. Sure she's a freshmen in college, my dad would say, but I trust her. That ended shortly after one not so very pleasant night when we found out she'd been popping pills. For a while I was afraid my dad might have a heart attack, too, with all the stress Caroline was giving him. My Dad did what he always did when things turned rough, he busied himself. If he was not by my mothers side, helping her in any way possible, then he was fixing up the house, doing things for work, out in the garage working on the car. There was never a down time for him except in the dead of night. A few times I'd wake up sweating so I'd go down to the kitchen to get a glass of water and find blue lights flickering from the living room. It was the only time I'd ever seen him relax and just watch T.V., just lounge and bask in the glory of his good health. How long he would keep that up, though, I didn't know. And as for me, well, I just kept it to myself. Bad things happen, I knew this, I just had to suck it up. I couldn't bare to bother my mother again, and I didn't want the same to happen to my father, and Caroline, she was definitely out of the question.
•●•●•●•
"Excited?" My dad asked flipping a pancake over in the pan. I hesitated in giving my answer because I wasn't sure what he was referring to. Thankfully, I didn't have to suffer. Caroline to the rescue.
"Excited about what?" She looked at me, eyebrows contracting in slight confusion.
"Lucy's starting her new job tomorrow." he said without turning around.
"Yeah, at Turtle Records." I said with dawning realization as to what topic we were talking about now. I almost smiled until my sister laughed.
"Turtle Records," Her voice said in a demoralizing way, "sounds like tons of fun, Luc." She rolled her eyes, picking up a plate and helping herself to the pancakes setting off to the side of the stove. Six months ago, I thought, six months ago I would have said something. I use to be the queen of witty retorts, but now I stood there, saying nothing.
"Don't mind her," Dad said sliding the hot cake from the pan onto my plate, "this is going to be a great experience for you. Jobs look great on resumes, too." That was my dad, always thinking of the future. He was constantly on my case about college, something my sister was never interested in but was dragged into upon threat that she would have to work. For her, working meant no time to party. I couldn't picture Caroline in a classroom honestly, only on a dance floor or with a beer in her hand. Sometimes I hated myself for thinking like that, trying to remember my sweet older sister, the one who was hugging me in that famous picture on top of the television set, but I couldn't. We weren't those two little girl's with curly blonde pigtails, smiling and embracing each other with matching pink and purple gingham jumper sets, no. We were just Caroline and Lucy, two girls connected only by blood, but in reality were worlds apart.
After breakfast was finished I helped my dad clean up. We were washing dishes when he asked, "You're kind of quiet. Everything alright, Luc?" I've been quiet for six months Dad, I thought, why notice now? I wanted to tell him what I was thinking, what I'd been feeling for half a year, but I felt it was too late. I felt that the right time had passed many weeks ago when that rush to the hospital was still fresh in our minds. That was the perfect time, the time when Caroline was crying on my shoulder, heaving deep sobs. The time when my father's eyes looked distant and sunken in, an expression of slight fear mixed only with exasperation. That was the perfect time, so I thought, to tell them what I was feeling. But I didn't. I just sat there let my sister soak my t-shirt, and patted my Dad's hand when he spaced out, bringing him back to a chaotic reality with my gesture of comfort. Well, where was my comfort?
"Yep, everything's fine, Dad." I lied. I've been lying for a while now, not knowing when it would stop. I use to lie to myself thinking that eventually it would become true. If I told myself that I was alright long enough, it must be so. Finally his eyes returned to the task at hand and I knew he didn't buy my story, not all of it, but there was a part of him that was too tired to persist.
"We need dishwashing liquid," he said, changing the subject before I had a chance to give it a second thought, "and it couldn't hurt to replace this sponge either" He was turning the water off and wiping his hands dry with a dish towel as he spoke.
"I'll get them. We need more milk anyways." We didn't really, we were fine on milk, but he needed a reason why I was going. I wanted to give him a breather, free up some time if possible.
"Alright," he placed the towel on the coutner, saying, "here, take this ten. That should be enough." He looked at me and smiled, waiting for my own grin in reply. Words were not needed here, just a smile and a nod which was what I obliged him with.
Back upstairs on the way to my room I passed Caroline's open door. She was sitting upside down on the bed, her head hanging off one side and her feet the other. It wasn't suprsing to me that her door was open, a sign of the apocolypse, or that she was not on her phone, maybe she was sick, but that she was sad. Her face was starting to look ruddy, either from the blood rushing to her head or because something bad had just happened. But for a split second I stopped, stopped to pity my sister in the hall, or to feel curiosity at the change in her usual demeanor. It was in that split second of weakness where I walked to the doorway and began to open my mouth to say something, and in that same fraction of a minute I saw the tears in her eyes. Now, I've seen my sister cry before. She cried that day my mother had a heart attack, when we found out she had very limited use in the left side of her body, and at every other appropriate time. I, on the other hand, never shed a single tear. Now I was standing in the doorway, lingering, wanting to say something but didn't. She must have sense this too, and maybe she wanted me to speak up, or wanted me gone but either way I got the hell out of dodge. One minute her eyes were melancholy and pleading, the next they were angry tears spilling down her cheeks as she slammed the door in my face. The wood collided with the tip of my nose before I could fully retracted myself from her room, sending a jolt of pain through it. I cursed under my breath and hit the door hard with my fist, all feelings of empathy for her wiped clean. Muttering more foul words inaubidle to anyone, I stalked to my room ripping my keys from my purse and snatching a baseball cap from my bed post. With heavy foot steps I decended down the stairs two at a time and almost forgot to slip on my Vans as I left the house.
"Lucy," I said to myself, "you're a dumbass." I was saying this five blocks away from my house on Oak Avenue, away from the home where we pretended everything would turn out alright though it was apparent things were far from normal. Even as I turned the corner I began to critisize myself for even wanting to open up to her. I mean, I wasn't completely sure she was crying about Mom anyways, it could have been about one of her stupid boyfriends. Funny how one little thing such as getting a door slammed in your face could really piss you off. I've been able to withstand a lot of things, but my sister. She knew all the right buttons to push and did them without hesitation. Pulling into the parking lot of Publix I was still mad, but not entirely pissed as I was minutes ago. In this small fit of rage I didn't remember entering the store but when I realized I did, I totally forgot what I came for. Damn Caroline. It seemed to matter less, however, as I also forgot the layout of the store. I'd even worked in a Publix before, not this exact one, but it was still embarrasing. I needed to catch my breath, calm down before I snapped on someone. It was something I hadn't done in a long time, but with all the pent up feelings I had, they could explode on someone with enough lethal force to kill.The crying kid standing by register number four was my first target. Just give him the damn candy I thought, briskly walking towards a sign labeled 'restrooms' hanging above all the isles.
Minutes later I remerged feeling better, not entirely cleansed seeing how a woman was changing her baby and the smell seemed to stick to the wall paper of the room, but better. "Sponges," I said aloud, pride swelling within my smile now that I remembered my reason for coming here. "Isle five," A short man replied without looking up from the cans of cinnamon rolls he was restocking. I glared at him, feeling as if he stole my thunder, but quickly corrected this gesture with another smile when he turned to face me. Three isles down I turned now, walking down the shelves stocked with cleansing liquids. I grabbed a bottle of Dawn, a new yellow sponge with a green side for scrubbing, then headed to the back of the store for milk. Today wasn't my day though, because right as I bent down close enough to look at expiration dates on the jugs, a small old lady hit the tip of my nose with the cap of her milk. It was a miracle she could lift anything at all, honestly, and I should have looked at that as the bright side of things instead of balling my free hand into a fist and slamming it against the side of the coolers. It must have shocked her because she seemed to jump back a little. Through slightly gritted teeth I began to apologize and as she read my face her lips made this subtle movement. Not quivering, not mouthing a foul word at me, but just unstable movement due to too much time on earth. Finally, after several repeated apologizes, the old bat didn't have her hearing aid in, and carrying the milk to her shopping cart, which was about twenty feet away, we made it to the check out. Yes, we. After I placed the jug in her cart she started to walk away saying, "Let's go, dear." It was so frusterating that I laughed. I like old people, really I do. She just happened to hit my already sore nose, sending me back down my path of ridiculous anger.
"Would you hand me a Coke, dear?" She pointed to the small fridge containing eight ounce drinks. Why not, I thought as I bent down to retreive her a soda.
"Hey, can you hand me a Diet Dr. Pepper, too? My hands are kind of full." A guy from behind me asked, his face blocked by a huge bag of Kibbles and Bits.
"You mean Diet Dr. Nasty," I said with a half laugh before my expression turn to that of horror. Why had I just said that? It was Granny driving me over the edge, making me say things I would have six months earlier but not now. I made a vow, in a sense, to keep my mouth closed. It served a better purpose that way. Needless to say I was shocked when I heard he was laughing.
"You said it," he agreed as he set down the dog food on the black mat of the register, revealing his handsome face. "It's for my brother. I tried to tell him that the original is the best, but he just won't listen." He smiled at me as I handed him the drink, and I'd almost forgot about the old woman, almost.
"Thank you sweety," She said patting my arm with her wrinkled hand, giving me a sincere smile as she took the Coke and beckoned the bag boy out of the store in the same innocently aggravating way she had just done with me. It probably wasn't at all frusteration to that guy though, because it was his job.
"How are you today mam?" The cashier asked in a monotone voice, sliding the Dawn over the scanner.
"Fine," I replied turning back now, realizing that the cute guy was still standing beside me, possibly waiting for another funny comment that I didn't have. So, as a safety mechanism I'd implanted within myself long ago, I stayed silent. I barely noticed that the cashier had rung up all three of my items when he gave me my total.
"Um..." Oh, God. Where's my money? I supressed an urge to glance at the guy I'd just given the soda to, afraid he might offer me his own money. It's a nice gesture, don't get me wrong, but still highly embarassing. Pushing these thoughts away I focused on where I'd stuffed that bill with Hamilton's face on it. I patted my burgendy Florida State cap feeling nothing but my hair, patted my shorts even though I didn't have pockets, and for one breif moment I was horrified at the thought that I could have even stuffed it down my bra. Before I thought about patting myself there, though, I remembered it's hiding place.
"Sorry," I mumbled to the man with the apron on and outstretched hand, saying this last part more to myself. "...I'm a dork." Bending my knee and raising my foot closer to my hand, I pulled out a ten from the side of my shoe. Somehow I let my eyes flicker over the face of the fellow diet soda hater and found him watching me. If I was red before, I must have turned crimson then. For the second time that day I wondered if someone sensed what I thought, too, because pulled out money from his own shoe saying, "Don't worry. I keep mine in the same place."
I couldn't help but smile, feeling relieved that my dumb idiosnycrasy was shared by yet another person.
"See you around," I said stealing another glance at him as I took my bag and receipt.
"Yeah, see you around," he replied with the same smile that made me flush all over again.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jul 29, 2007 3:06 pm
•●•●•●•
After I left Publix I didn't go straight home. For the first time in what seemed to be forever I was smiling, really smiling. Then, just as I thought that, I felt I was being shallow. That all it took for me to dig myself out of the hole I was buried in was a smile and a few remarks from a cute guy. At this point I had to wonder what was keeping me in the hole anyway. Me?
I turned out of the parking lot and onto the main road. After a few minutes of travel I headed back into the residental areas but couldn't will myself to go home. I couldn't go back to that place, tainted now, not after I felt good. But where could I go? Before I even knew where I was going, it seemed I was already headed there, my body taking on a mind of it's own. The back roads weren't even paved, just a bunch of gravel making a path towards a dead end destination. At the end of this stretch I veered off to the side, parking in the shade. As soon as I stepped out of the car the high grass tickled my bare legs sending my mind back to a time when I was alive. At first look, there's nothing to see. Tree's here and there, over grown grass, weeds and wildflowers, but nothing spectacular. But, if you ventured deep within the woods, looping around a giant oak tree with many initals carved into it, you'd find a path. The trail was not beat with foot prints, but worn with memories. Now I found myself circling the tree, fingers caressing the bark and stopping as I found my initals on it, L. F. I traced the two letters over and over again, the letters of Lucille Freeman, going over the rest of the initials once, too. I thought of the promise we made, always with the silly promises of being friends forever. It said so, right in the bark of this tree. Then why was it I hadn't talked to any of my friends in half a year? My fault, I guess. Pressing forward I crept on inbetween the tree's as I finished my loop. I passed the garden of stones forming an arrow, telling you to go straight, passed the weeping willow, the only one of it's kind, and passed the field of flowers. Then, only then, were you there. The lake. It still had that one tire swing dangling from the sturdiest branch of a tree and as I climbed over the undergrowth I held my breath thinking that someone might be there. My eyes followed the rope, not able to see the end of it where I thought someone might be sitting. Now I was moving branches aside and finally the empty tire swing was in view. I let my breath go in a deep sigh and looked around. It seemed this place was timeless, nothing had changed since last summer. I took a seat in the large black tire, my feet two or three feet above the ground. I wasn't far from the waters edge, but still couldn't see my reflection, just that of the moving rope. I spun in slow circles, taking in the beauty of the place that was a second home to so many of us. It was still entirely too hot in the shade but I felt sleep coming. So I let my lids close over cereulean eyes, my breathing slowing, too. I let my mind wander, trying to will it away from the subject of my mother but with much difficulty. Her pained face came into view and I wanted to cry. In all the long months since the attack, I never did cry. Her face was twisted with pain and she reached for my arm. I was standing there like a blundering idiot, watching as she fell to the floor. My dad was screaming for someone to call 911, rushing to my mother's side. While Caroline went for the phone I stood there not knowing what to do. Ten minutes later the ambulence arrived. I was told ten minutes by the clock in the living room, but in seemed much much longer in my mind. I thought I stood there for an eternity, looking on as my mother's soul was about to pass. My sister had fully broken down by this time and I don't know how Dad stayed together, but he pulled through. The trip to the hospital was a blurr and I only remember the sound of a few distant crashes and explosions. I don't even remember the night sky lighting up with color. I walked through the emergency room doors in a daze and felt that it was hard just to breathe. Even right now I was finding it hard to breathe. Suddenly, the last thing I wanted to do was sleep. In a hurried panic, I jolted myself into reality, eyes wide open, almost hyper ventilating. I shook so hard that I fell out of the tire swing onto the ground. My chest rose and dropped with such fury I thought I might have a heart attack myself. Scrambling to my feet I had no idea what to do next, so I ran. I ran as fast and as hard as I could, jumping through the overgrown vines, not bothering to circle the large oak tree again, but to dive right out of the thicket of woods. I had one long stretch of a bare grass field before I was at my car and I practically flew. I fumbled with the keys and finally opened the door, flinging myself inside and shutting the door behind me like a crazed person. That's what I was, crazy. Crazy to run from nothing but myself. I had to be insane, just had to be.
In an attempt to catch my breath I leaned the side of my face on the hot leather of my steering wheel. When I opened my eyes they were on the seat of the passenger side, staring at the grocery bag and the jug of souring milk. "s**t!" I turned on the car, turning the AC on full blast and rushed home.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Sep 03, 2007 7:56 pm
•●•●•●•
I just shut the door to the refridgerator when my dad stuck his head around the corner of the open doorway.
"Everything alright?" He asked, eyebrow cocked most likely because I was still slightly panting.
"Yep," I paused for a moment trying to come up with an excuse as to why I was winded, but decided to leave it at that. My father nodded, looked around the kitchen and found the new sponge and dish washing liquid on the table, then disappeared from sight with a lingering smile. I heaved a deep sigh after a minute and went about restocking the items in the house. My fingers were wet from the condensation on the plastic bag when I balled it up into a small wrinkled ball. It wasn't until the bag rolled off my finger tips and into the trash can when I saw the empty bottle of diet Dr. Pepper. For an insant I smiled, but as soon as I blinked the motion was gone and I'd already started on my way towards the stairs. This time when I passed Caroline's room and I didn't turn to look. Not that there was a lot to look at with the door back to it's regular closed position. As my door joined in with her's, I dropped my back to it and slid to the floor. I wasn't in a pathetic heap on the floor or anything, but I was still tired.
•●•●•●•
I spent most of the afternoon in my room. SAT verbal and math books littered the floors, the bed, and my desk. Highlighters, pens, and pencils were also scattered about and there was an incessant mumbling coming from my mouth. I've found that when I study I tend to mumble, never in full sentences, but in fragements. It's sort of a stream of consciousness babbling. I was perfecting my definition of nefarious when the very thing entered my room.
"I was half hoping you were whispering to some boy in here," Caroline begain, surveying the area as her upper lip curled with disdain at the sight of books, "but what was I thinking?" Her eyes rested on me, a glint of left over anger from this mornings experience still sneering at me from the corners of her eyes. "Dinner's ready," she sighed, leaving the door open as she always did. I sat perfectly still on the floor with the same unreadble expression on my face, still staring at the empty hallway ahead. But my insides, oh they were on fire. They battled on like Asserians with ruthless war tactics that made Caroline's words feel like a soft wind kissing your face. The two sides battled over whether to say something or not. They never wondered if my sister was right or not, because I knew, all the pieces of me knew, that she was wrong. My sister was not only a party animal, but a self-proclaimed expert on boys. She'd always ask why I never had a boyfriend, why I was so anti-social, what happened to all my friends. Those questions, I feared, not even I could answer. I couldn't tell myself what was holding me back, let alone someone else. I was sure Caroline had slept around and had more friends, good or bad, than I had books on the SAT, but that wasn't why I envied her. I was so sure that she had more passion and love for life than I could ever have in a million years. It was Caroline who was the sweet, outgoing child. Caroline, who was always invited to the sleep overs, the movies, any social event. And it was I who was so private with my emotions, with my everything. I, who was the straight-A kid, the loner. At least, that's how I look at it now. I was never popular like my sister, no, but I was happy.
Downstairs in the kitchen the table was set for three. Even though my mom could walk, slowly and sometimes with help, she rarely ever joined us for dinner or for any other meal. She slept mostly, or stayed immobile in her room. This was a huge change for everyone. She was the one who did everything, a real Wonderwoman. Being so active, the doctors said, helped her along the road to recovery. Still, it's weird to see my dad in front of the stove or the sink instead of my mom. He's no great chef, but he gets us fed.
"I haven't heard a pepp out of you all afternoon, Luc. Been studying hard?" My father's expression was that of a proud man, my sister's, well, she gave her trademark roll of the eyes.
"Yeah, catching up on my verbal." I grabbed a plate as I gave my comment and shifted over towards the dish of Hamburger Helper.
"Really? What new word did you learn?" As he asked this he glanced up at me momentarily, then turned to get a plate of his own.
"Um, stoic. It means one who is seemingly indifferent to or unaffected by joy, grief, pleasure, or pain." A pair of eyes bore into the back of my neck and I knew the owner's name was Caroline. When I went to set my plate on the table I could feel the eyes move from me to my father. If she was wishing, hoping that my little SAT word might sink in as hint to my father about how I was at this point in time, she was wrong. Dead wrong. He merely nodded his head and began making up another plate for my mother. Too busy to notice or too busy to care didn't matter to me anymore. Both were unbearable, but in a way it was what I preferred. I hated confrontation or talking about my feelings. Sure I was a girl, but not all of us are born with a mushy gene that let us verbally free our pent up feelings. Well, I finally had to look up and face my sister now that we were sitting across from each other at the table. But for the second tme today she suprised me. I didn't see any anger in her eyes, nothing about them was jeering me with their sharp lines. Her eyes were soft, yet hard with concern. Then, in one breathless sigh, all of it was wiped clean from her eyes and she too joined into the club of the four stoic Freemans.
•●•●•●•
I felt that I was already back at school. I'd only experienced one pleasant week of sleeping in before the return of my alarm clock. It was seven A.M. sharp and I had an hour and a half before Turtle Records opened their doors. I turned my alarm off and sat back down on my bed, staring at my cold feet in the darkness of my room. The sun was already up, but the thickness of my curtains hid me from the morning outside. I wiggled my toes after a while, making sure they were still mine and they still worked. Staring at your own body parts for too long eventually makes them seem forgeign, that these were not the same hands that I was born with and grew up with. That this face did not belong to me, but to someone else and she has been taking my place these long, hard six months. The real Lucille Freeman is capable of the truth, and is able to love. These pictures you see here, I wanted to say, are not lying. They do tell the story of a girl's happy life. A deep yawn interjected these sad, mentally self-deteriorating thoughts. So, while I allowed myself this break I found it as good of time as any to take a shower. Twenty minutes passed and I was out and blow drying my hair. Another fifteen and it was dried and straightened. By eight-o-clock I was dressed and fed. The manager of the store requested that I only be there about fifteen minutes early to help set up the store. I lived five, ten minutes away so I still had time to waste. I couldn't will myself to study for the SAT anymore, or to watch cartoons, I didn't even know what channel they might be on now, so I just decided to leave. Being early for a job was never a bad thing. Ascending the stairs to my room Caroline appeared in the hallway walking out of her's. I looked at her breifly before passing her by with a quick "Morning," and grabbed my purse from the chair by my desk. On my return route I stopped, staring at her, when I found she was in the same exact spot. I gave her this what-do-you-want-look but she didn't give it back. Instead, she tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and said, "Good luck." God, Caroline, I thought as I watched her walk into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. 'What's wrong with you?' I thought as the tears stung my eyes. They never fell onto my cheeks, however. I was able to pull it together before reaching my car. One day she makes me so mad I want to disown her, the next she's nice to me when I snarl at her and she throws me for a loop. I blamed it on the morning, though, making my emotions go on high. But again, I was contemplating my sister as I pulled out of the drive way and onto the road. That woman never ceased to amaze me. Those were always my exact words.
It took approximately seven minutes to get from my house to the music store with morning traffic. It was roughly about 8:10 and I was searching the parking lot for any sign of other early birds. Thankfully, there was a light on inside the building although the 'Open' sign was not illuminated. I contemplated going in, but was overcome with a sudden tiredness. So I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel and zoned my thoughts out. Eventually I heard John Mayor's 'Gravity' on the lowest decibal of human hearing. It was like one of those few times the song was playing inside your head and you could swear that it was actually playing outside of it. This peaceful serenity didn't last for long though. A sudden tapping on my car window sent me sky rocketing. First, yes first, I hit my nose on the steering wheel as I jolted upright. Strike two for the nose. With this new found pain my hands shot up to my face where I leaned into the horn, scaring someone passing in front of my car on their way back to their own. I imagined that it was a bird tapping on my window, or maybe even my father following me here to make sure my first day went well. But never would I have imagined the guy from the grocery store standing outside my car. This wasn't one of those dreamy scene's though. There was no cue of fast violin music where the two love birds meet again and run into each others arms, no. Just the sound of his laughter ecohing through out the half empty parking lot. I glanced up to glare at him, my hands still pressed to my face, but then remembered I had a job to go to. I looked at the clock that read 8:20, swore a silent curse, then moved my hand to the keys in the ignition. I turned it off, stuffed the keys in my purse and undid my seat belt. I glowered at the giddy boy outside my car and waited for him to move. When he saw the look on my face his smile did not fade, but widened. He gave a deep bow and opened the door. In return I cocked a brow at him then exited without saying a single word. When I heard the door slam I double clicked the lock button on my key chain and resumed on my way towards the store's entrance.
"I didn't mean to scare you," He said between stiffled laughs, which infuriated me even more.
I gave him a sideways glance, "You didn't scare me." I managed to keep a straight face, trying not to show my anger just as he was trying not to show his laughter.
"Oh, I see. That wasn't scaring you?" He half smiled at me, waiting for my elaboaration on the subject.
"You suprised me. That's all."
"Oh," He repeated, "I apologize for the mix up." I turned to say something but found myself unable to. He gave me this look, this one look that said he knew exactly what I was thinking and how I felt. As if my emotions were being read on the bottom of the daily news along with scores from the latest sports games. This piercing look with those bright blue eyes, and at this small distance between us was enough to make any girl blush. Goodness.
Inside I met up with two more people, and an older woman who I assumed was our boss.
"Andy!" A guy called to the one beside me from behind the Classical Rock section. This new guy had dark brown hair that looked unkept even though it was still wet from the shower. He was pretty short, thin, but not too thin, and a little muscular. His eyes, I noticed, were almost as brillant as Andy's. "So, who's your new lady friend, bro?"
"Shut up." Came a feminine voice from the same section, followed by a sound that was closely related to that of a CD case hitting the back of someone's head. A girl appeared from behind the stacks of CD's, revealing a smiling face. She had warm, tan skin and long black hair. Her eyes were a pretty olive green and I couldn't help but stare.
"I'm Charlotte, and this," she pointed over her shoulder to the boy rubbing his head, "is Brett."
I returned the smile and said, "I'm Lucy."
"Lucille Freeman is it?" The older woman who had been quiet this whole time finally asked.
"Yes ma'am." I turned to face her and found a green T-shirt stuck in front of my face.
"This will be your work shirt, dear. My name is Mrs. Camabee, we spoke on the phone. Sorry I can't stick around to tell you more but I'm sure Andy, Brett, and Charlotte can show you the ropes. I'm late for a meeting"
"Meetings," Brett begun, "are like stop signs. They're optional."
He ducked just in time to miss another swing from Charlotte as Mrs. Camabee and I laughed. Andy simply rolled his eyes then held the door open for our boss. She bid us farewell, and promised to return within the hour. Unfolding my shirt now I could see a dark green turtle with heavy black headphones on, music pouring out left and right. The words 'Turtle Records' were sandwiching this turtle making for an oddly fascinating design.
"Bathroom's in the back," Andy said pointing to a door that read 'Employee's Only.'
I nodded my thanks and headed for the door, beginning my new day of work.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Dec 03, 2007 2:52 pm
[[Note: My laptop died a few months back and I'm only allowed on my mother's computer when she's not working. So, sorry for the delay in posting. ]]
•●•●•●•
I had just pulled the green shirt over my head when a loud thump sounded on the locked bathroom door.
"Sorry," A voice called, one that was straining itself to keep calm, "just making sure you're alright."
"You mean, tripping over this box of Brittany Spears CD's was all just a ploy to make a loud, uncouth sound on the door?" Said Charlotte, making me guess the other voice was Brett. A few hushed whispers, the scraping of cardboard sweeping off of the floor, and a sarcastic laugh were the remaining bits of the embarassing episode I missed. Shaking my hair back into place I put my bangs behind my ears and looked hard at the mirror. I nodded quickly before I could space off again and exited the room, turning the light switch off as I passed. Eventually, I found the break room and placed my shirt in my purse before setting it down on a table in the corner. I gave it one good glance before turning to leave again and reemerged from the back room.
"Diet Dr. Nasty," Brett muttered to me, glaring at me as he opened a box of CD's. I stared at him for a moment, looking to Andy and finally realizing what Brett was talking about.
"Oh, yeah, sorry about that." My cheeks reddened a little and I smiled at him and began to step away but felt an arm fold around my shoulders.
"Nonsense! You spoke the truth. Brett's not only a big fan of diet sodas, but of mothers with ruined careers and calls into rehab." We both glanced at his little brother and down to the box of Brittany Spears CD's. I tried hard, brutally hard to fight a smile but with no luck.
"This," Brett uttered, waving a CD in my face, "means war."
I gave an uneasy look that was not put to rest when Andy slapped my back and left me alone again.
The morning was slow, but this was expected, according to Charlotte. She took me under her wing and showed me the basics. I'd already learned how to work a cash register from my job at the grocery store, but she ran over the differences with me anyways. When noon came around Mrs. Camabee reappeared and sanctioned our one hour leave along with many thanks for giving me the grand tour.
"So, where ya going?" Brett asked Charlotte as he held the door open for everyone. "Because me and Andy were thinking pizza."
"Pizza? I had that for dinner last night," said Charlotte more to herself than to anyone.
"Really? I told you pizza was a bad idea, Andy." He glanced momentarily at his brother and then back to the girl before him. "What are you in the mood for?"
"Well, since it's Lucy's first day I guess we should let her pick." She said, and all eyes looked at me. I was actually unaware I was part of their lunch plans and was heading towards my own car when I stopped and turned around.
"Can't," I lied, not knowing why, "I've got to go home and run some errands."
"Oh," Charlotte nodded, throwing a hand in the air, "see ya, then."
Their conversation resumed and I nodded my head in return looking to Brett, who was engrossed by the Native American woman's presence, and then to Andy. He wasn't looking at me like I thought he might be, and I didn't know if I was relieved or disappointed. Reaching my car and unlocking it was something done on auto-pilot because the actual thinking part of my brain was making speculations as to why I declined her offer. I'll admit I'd have felt guilty for not checking in at home. I spent so much time just staying at home outside of school that now it felt almost wrong not to spend time with my family. The same family that ached from the center of their hearts, but never gave a hint of suffering. Did I feel wrong for feeling happy?
Back home I found Caroline sprawled on the couch, peeling a banana and watching some soap opera on the television. As if her life wasn't dramatic enough.
"How'd your turtle job go?" She asked with a mouth full.
"My music job," I stressed these words, "at Turtle Records went fine. And, the day's not even over yet." I resumed my tasks in the kitchen and sat down at the table with my finished product. A ham sandwich with chips and a pickle weren't the makings of a chef, but I'm not hard to please.
"Same difference," Caroline stated ten minutes later, dropping the peel into the trashcan. "Hey! Who drank all the fruit punch?"
God, if you have ever felt pity on me, shower me with it now, I thought as I watched my sister turn her head around. For a split second I thought she was going to pull an exorcist move, but her body came along with her head, too.
"Lucy Lucifer, of course you drank the last of my drink." Her hand was on her hip, head shaking back and forth, slowly.
"That's not my name." I glared back, "And, the fruit punch did not soley belong to you."
"I bought it, so it's mine." She retorted. Yeah you bought it, with Dad's money I thought, rolling my eyes. Just as a I did she walzted over and stared me down, picking up my cup. My eyes said 'Don't,' but my mouth stayed shut. She sipped from it then put it back down.
"When are you going to stand up for yourself? You just gonna stay quiet forever and hide in your shell, turtle?" With that she sighed and walked back into the living room, something I thank the stars for. I thank them because I didn't want to be confronted now, maybe never. Who cared if I was a turtle? I didn't believe I was hiding from anything anyways, but even if I was, it wasn't hurting her any.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Dec 06, 2007 2:15 pm
C H A P T E R T W O
The next week was mainly uneventful, that is except for Andy's music lessons.
"This one, listen to this one." He said waving the back of a CD case in the air until the red lazer recognized it. When the information was prcoessed, he shielded my view of the screen and pressed a button to hear one of the tracks.
"Andy," I said as the music started up, "this is the twentieth song you've made me listen to." But, all words were lost when he silently shook his head and put his hands close to his ears, mimicking the gesture of adjusting the headphones.
"Have it your way," I sighed, turning away with another defeated smile. The music was of a techno variety, with a woman cooing random tones here and there. It was, however, very melodic. I found it catchy, entransing even.
"Who is this?" I asked trying to pry his hand off the screen. Instead, all I managed to do was hit the button for another track. The woman's voice was beautiful, and there was an underlying synthesized counter melody, most likely her own but simply tampered with. I listened carefully to her words, which at first made sense, but then again they didn't. I looked Andy squarely in the eyes, and finally he made a reply.
"Imogen Heap," He glanced at the title of the track then said, "Hide and Seek. So?..."
I opened my mouth to speak, then paused. "I like it." This had been my response to most of the things he played and his face sunk into a look that was becoming all too familiar. One of those how-can-you-be-unaffected-by-these-sounds sort of look.
"It's... meaningful. I mean, some of her lyrics sort of seem to have spouted from a time when she was taking acid," He cocked a brow, followed by a smirk, "but they express her well. It's almost like stream of consciousness music. She tells the story as it comes to her mind, which I suppose would explain the 'on acid' part. But, it's nice spontaneity, you know?" I wasn't looking at Andy when I said this, but as I turned to take in his new face he dropped to one knee, grabbing one of my hands.
"Oh milady, if you wouldst only speaketh such emotion to every song I playeth you, then you wouldst seeth the whole world for the beautiful marvel it is." My face must have been somewhat of shock and confusion, but either way he couldn't help but laugh.
"What?" He asked standing up from the floor.
"Nothing. You must be easily pleased though, with such a short response."
"Luc, I'm not asking for a formal essay, five paragraphs, MLA style turn in for the writing portion of the SAT. I just want to know what you think."
I stayed silent, debating whether he was taking another hit at how much time I spent studying for that test, which he and Brett had a ball with earlier, or if he was sincere.
"I want you to," He waved his hands in a circular motion, as if this would generate his mind to think of his choice words faster. "I want you to tell me what you think- stream of consciousness style. Just whatever pops into your mind. You have to feel the music. I'm not asking for a review to put on the back cover of a CD, now."
I was amazed. If only he knew that I spoke more around him than anybody else in the world. And, he wants more! But, it didn't seem unlikely to me that he would procure such feelings from people. He wasn't at all shy and could hold a conversation with anybody. It's as if he knew what you were feeling as you feeling it. That same been-there-done-that-look spread across his face and it wasn't pompous, but endearing. He was only seventeen but he's experienced more in his life than I imagine I ever will.
"What?" Andy inquired as to the look on my face.
Lucy! Daydream on your own time, stupid broad!
"Nothing," I stammered as I turned around and mouthed an "oh my gosh."
"Tell me. You can't give someone such a mysterious look, then say nothing."
My face lit up when he said mysterious, but I was able to downplay that emotion in time to face him.
"Ever been thinking about things, you know, in retrospect, and suddenly realize that you were staring at someone?"
"Never."
My mouth dropped wide, and my eyes narrowed, showing my disbelief. "You of all people!"
He didn't say anything but simply stared at me, eyes glued to mine, face unmoving. I dare say I began to sweat.
"May I help you?" What am I? A drive-through worker?
"Sorry I was just thinking about something. Didn't mean to stare. Have you ever thought of something retrospectively, and-"
I hit him hard in his arm. One good swing.
Andy yelped, "I was just kidding!"
I, like a five-year-old, stuck my tongue out at him and walked off, smiling ear to ear.
[[More to come...]]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
